


Movie Night - Take Four

by Churbooseanon



Series: For Every Action, A Reaction [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While they wait for news on York, Wash and North seek comfort in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night - Take Four

The world existed in a hundred thousand little things, none of which Agent Washington could keep out of his mind. His world existed in the chill of the air of his room, his blood pumped the low hum of the ship’s engines that were a constant, dull thrum in the back of his world. His skin felt rough, unfinished like the standard issue blankets he hadn’t bothered to go to Niner to replace. The darkness of the room was the fill of his lungs, slow and deep and unyielding. On and on it went, only darkness, only breath, only life. His heart beat with each second counted by on the dull red counter of the clock in the corner. Each number counting up to something. Counting down to something. Counting how long York was gone, how long he has left to live. 

His breathing became the agitated tapping of fingers on his stomach, counting out every second in their own exaggerated speed. His lungs were the steel of the walls, unyielding in a new way because the air wouldn’t come. It didn’t matter how much he breathed, he just couldn’t get air. All of his body shook, curled in on itself as the sobs. For a while he’d escaped them, fought free, sought the calm of the darkness and the peace of the hum, and the simplicity of the count. Now it came rushing back, everything screaming all at once and his throat tight and his world broken, broken, breaking. 

York… Miles… his love, his lover, his partner gone. How long had it been? Surgery hour six, and still he waited for FILSS to come on, to tell him that there was an answer. Give him the relief from the fear. Either loss or hope, just something, something more than this constant nothing. This lack. This ache that made him scream wordlessly for no hope. Please, something, anything, why won’t they say anything at all. 

The soft whisper of breath over his ear, a murmur of his name trying to tear through his terror. Fear. Pain. God if he thought his pain was anything he had no idea at all. There was Miles. Would he live? How had that woman done it? How could she have put him in that position? Maine, his best friend, his closest friend outside of his relationship, had almost killed Miles. Maybe killed him. Probably killed him. 

“Hush,” the voice whispered again, right in his ear. The fingers tapping on his stomach stopped their tapping. Instead they rubbed gentle circles into his skin, pressing lightly, but somehow reaching deep. Soothing touches that started at his abs and slowly massaged up. Stroked over muscles and smoothed over skin and left heat in their wake in a room that felt like ice and sickness. 

Lips, lips at his ear pressed just behind it, a soft kiss meant to soothe, meant to coax. 

“Nic,” he whispered, rolling into the arms of his partner and nuzzled in against him. His face found the crook of North’s neck, hid there, but the hands didn’t stop. They stroked instead over his back, pushing and pulling at muscles like a constant reminder of when and where he was. Here, in his room, in North’s arms, with the person left to him. 

The touch was kind. It was loving, and when David stifled a relieved sigh into his lover’s neck, things changed. It was like that with them, they moved whether they intended to or not. They moved because it was what had to happen. In the darkness David found himself on his belly, head pillowed on his arms. Nic straddled him, his hands moving once again. Strong fingers, not as nimble as the ones David wanted, found their way to his shoulders. Pressed deep into his skin and muscles, aching for relief. David tried to focus only on the touch, let himself only be the touches, the softness of the moment. His pleased noises turned to light moans as he fell into the patterns Nic wove with his fingers. Downward arcs of his thumbs, roving from the spine and flowing down and out like ribs. The roll of knuckles, up and forward, pressing hard into the muscles below his shoulder blades. Little points of pressure pushed into his skin as finger tips found and pressed at knots. How did one untie something they couldn’t see? He didn’t know how, but each touch from Nic seemed to loosen the tight pressure, turning his body to mush. 

Hands roved down, around, anywhere they could reach where tension could be carried, and when David moaned, his voice a whisper sunk into his crossed arms, the lips came. Pressed anywhere they could reach, or so it seemed. Pressed into his hairline, over and against his ears, and down his neck. Teeth pulled lightly at the skin of his shoulders before pressing kisses into place. His skin sang with the attention, each motion, each shift of weight on the bed endlessly intriguing. His breath became the slide of fabric, Nic’s pajama pants rubbing against the sheets. His heartbeat held in the anticipation of each touch, each kiss. His whole world a series of touches. 

Then the kisses were gone, Nic’s weight gone, and he was moving down David’s body. Hands that once lingered around his ribs instead traced the line of his boxers in the dark. A hem line explored and studied with each shaking breath David managed. This was it. This was happening. Something that never happened was happening. Nic never initiated, but with the touch he was asking, and despite himself, the heat was pooling in his gut. Pooling lower. Blood racing through him and traveling all toward the same place and his moans may be silent, but the squirming against that touch has to say it all. If only he was being touched, if only he was being comforted in the way his body wanted to be. 

No. Not comforted. 

Distracted. 

David rolled under his partner’s weight and then the fingers were focusing on the line of his hip. With a groan he shifted, trying to roll his hips up into the touch, and then there was a weight over him again, their lips pressed together. The heat of the kisses only makes the need worse, and as the fingers teased him again, David just reached. Grabbed Nic’s wrist and guided the hand where he needed it. Nic chuckled against his lips as they pulled away, moved so Nic could nibble at his jaw. The hand, guided where it was needed, just stroked over him, heat seeping through the soft cotton of his underwear. The touch drove a keening noise from his lips. He wanted the attention, needed it, and the pleasure of the touches was never going to stop. 

“What would you have of me?” Nic asks, his voice low and desperate. Both of them wanted it, he knew that. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? David wanted distracted, and Nic needed to distract. 

He nodded with a pleased hum, and there it was. The lips were gone from his jaw. So good, so perfect as they trailed down, hot and open mouthed. His breathing was the pace of kisses, his skin heat itself. The hand kept rubbing, stroking, palming him and always the touch was fleeting, never enough to satisfy. David’s breath was ragged even if regular, tore through him like his lust as his hips thrust up into the touch that was never enough, always too light, too teasing. Hot kisses down his skin and his fingers found hair to curl into. David held his breath and prayed for it to be easier, prayed for it to be right and for another pair of hands to be on him. But the thought was wiped away with hot, open mouthed kisses over his length through the fabric. 

Together they would figure it out. Pass the time. David’s hand fisted in Nic’s hair and Nic’s mouth on him like heat and the promise of love. Together they would get through it. 

And maybe, if they were lucky, FILSS would call. Together they would go to wait for York to wake up. Because he would. Because he had to. Because if he didn’t, what would they be without him? What could they ever be without him?


End file.
